Engagement of Sorts
by Canadino
Summary: Sitting outside in the cold wouldn't really attract too much attention...unless you're in the Mafia and are sorta being stalked by a member of your own Familia. 6984


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: --

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Engagement of Sorts

It was quite chilly; there was a fine covering of frozen dew on the ground that crunched if you trod on it. It was colder than the previous days, and colder than Italy was used to. Most would prefer to stay warm in their beds. Outside of an unmarked, ordinary-looking building, in the narrow alleyways of the quant little coastal town, sat a boy on the doorstep, breathing into his hands. One passing would giving nothing but the drifting thought that perhaps this poor, unfortunate soul had stumbled into a bit of a mess and was homeless. But upon further investigation, that would prove to be wrong – this boy didn't look unkempt at all. In fact, a neatly (self)pressed shirt was covered by a thin blazer, the only means of warmth this boy had; not to mention the various rings on his fingers that either pointed at wealth or the shady underground.

It was nothing Basil had to worry about; no one came around these parts in the first place – it being Mafia territory, after all.

Still, the informant should have come by now; the sun was starting to rise, but its light rays were not touching the cold that had enveloped the town. Surely citizens were prolonging their morning siestas in favor of retaining body heat. He had no such luck – sent out by Iemitsu to keep a look out for a potential informant looking to sell the Sawada family important information, he had been cast outside with the instructions to stay out there until anyone came. The informant had been vague with his meeting time, and even more so with his appearance. Basil crunched the paper in his hands; it was the only piece of identification, a phrase that would grant entrance.

He was only the only son of a branch off the Sawada Familia so it was only normal that a subordinate like him would have to do such a task. He was not complaining; but it was cold and he couldn't find a coat and risk the informant walking right by as he went back inside. He didn't have any access to anyone inside and even if he did, he couldn't call them to bring him a coat. The Mafia had eyes and ears anywhere and a curious young man bundling up as if he were waiting for someone was sure to attract attention from the local branches.

So alone Basil waited, shivering and hoping his hands weren't turning the nasty shade of purple that preceded frostbite.

Presently, a figure was walking down the street from the east. Still undistinguishable, Basil hoped whoever was coming near him was the informant; then perhaps he could bring him (or her) in and curl up in the warmth of the foyer and let Iemitsu take care of things.

But upon venturing closer, Basil recognized that dark school uniform, not native to the peninsula nation at all. And surely, no one in Italy wore their hair in that trademark (pineapple, some may call it) style. Basil let out a breath, fine mist floating into the air as Mukuro walked closer, his eyes confidently closed as if daring something to walk in front of his path, music blaring in his ears.

"One would think," Mukuro said, his voice low and husky in the chilly morning air, "that if one were to wait outside, one would at least bring a coat on such a cold day as today."

Mukuro was not a threat; at least, Iemitsu had not raised any alarms for him. Mukuro was a wildcard, but you had to wait to play wildcards – sometimes they hurt you, sometimes they helped you. Basil pulled his blazer tighter around him and indiscreetly reached for the small bottle of Dying Will pills in his pocket.

"You don't need to get defensive; I'm not here to hurt you." Mukuro stopped in front of the doorway, finally pulling the ear buds out of his ears slowly, one at a time as if preparing for a taxing feat. He opened his eyes, training the mismatched irises on the trembling boy in front of him. He smiled briefly as Basil stared blankly up at him, before sinking down next to him on the doorstep.

"I'm waiting for someone," Basil started.

"I know." Of course. Because the Mafia had eyes and ears everywhere. "But it's suspicious, isn't it, waiting out in an alleyway like this? Wouldn't it make more sense to…say…wait on the Spanish Steps? It would definitely be warmer and attract less attention, as a lot of youths of today loiter around there."

Basil looked up at the buildings and houses surrounding the alley, casting their cold shadows down to stop any of the sun's gifts from reaching him. But he wasn't there to question.

"Whoever designated this meeting area must have wanted to catch you in a vulnerable spot."

Basil turned to Mukuro. "Whoever wanted to meet with the Family wouldn't have known I would be out here."

"Maybe they did." Mukuro noted the narrowness of the doorway; the way Basil leaned toward him, their shoulders touching. Maybe it was by accident, maybe because the Mist Guardian had shrouded himself in an illusion of warmth that was attracting the cold boy. "It's cold today."

Basil didn't respond, but hugged himself tighter. Mukuro wasn't wearing more than he was, but he was radiating unusual warmth. He didn't want to get too close to the Family's unknown, but his body was betraying him. His fingers were too numb to stop himself.

"I like beautiful things," Mukuro said. "And powerful things. But powerful things usually have a beauty of their own. Wouldn't you agree…_bella_?"

Basil felt heat rise to his cheeks, suddenly both embarrassed about such a display and grateful for a warmth to distract himself from the cold. Mukuro stared at him, cocking his head amusedly. "That's a curious reaction from an Italian over something like a compliment."

"I was raised in a more modest stereotype," Basil murmured, pressing his hands against his cheeks to both hide them from Mukuro's judging eyes and to bring his hands some comfort. They were tingling with pins and needles.

Mukuro nodded. "Understandable," he agreed.

"But it's rude to call a boy beautiful, anyway." His flush was subsiding; along with the warmth. Bringing his frozen digits to his mouth, Basil breathed on them, wishing he at least brought maybe a shawl or something. Mukuro was half right – he had been caught at a vulnerable stage and wasn't sure if he could wield his boomer blade at the same speed if his fingers were warmer.

Mukuro leaned closer, his breath hitting the cold air like so many tiny knives exploding into steam and rising like so many spirits he had since possessed. He could feel the boy's skittishness, smiled almost slyly as Basil looked up to meet his eyes, wavering blue to his mismatched ones. "_Bella_," he purred, wrapping his arm slowly and deliberately around the younger's trembling figure, shifting so the cold pavement wasn't the thing in the front of his mind, "if you're so cold, we could definitely take these things inside…"

Basil stiffened at the contact, although the heat Mukuro brought was a reprieve of the elements. The latter was leaning into him and practically breathing down his neck, his eyes calculating. If he had been allowed the typical Italian upbringing, he might not have felt shy about whatever this was…if it could be counted as an embrace. It was quite unexpected, really.

Basil's lips trembled, growing an almost affectionate blue. "I'm waiting for someone," he whispered again.

Mukuro smiled, a smirk spreading slowly like syrup. "I can fix that," he purred, leaning over to whisper in the boy's ear. Again, Basil felt his face flush; he'd thought the identifying message sounded strange and slightly inappropriate for the matters at hand, but of course, if it was Mukuro he was dealing with, it wasn't unusual at all. The Guardian's breath was warm against his ear and his voice was agreeable.

"Now, shall we?" Mukuro stood, bringing Basil up with him as he guided the stiff-with-cold boy toward the door. "There's information to sell and a room for the both of us waiting just inside."

Owari

Note: If you've read Eyeliner, then you should recognize a paragraph that Japan had been writing. I just finished it for him. But seriously, I love 6984 and I really hope that somehow, this pairing will gain some legitimacy. It would make my day, really, also if some might review.


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